The Conference Is Over
Say goodbye, my band of brothers,
As we mime the final hymns -
How it breaks our voice to leave you
As your television dims.
We vowed to lead your country
To a future free from guile:
Now The Conference Is Over,
We can wash away our smile -
Like the dumb, our mouths were twitching,
And we preened to your applause,
But our new suits need re-stitching,
And the mothballs line our drawers.
Now our platitudes are quoted,
And our pie is in your sky,
For The Conference Is Over.
Vote for us, and don't ask why.